12:01 A/M ™

9:48 P/M

They dragged me here.

They dragged me here, and by they, I mean me. I socially felt obligated to attend this weed-smelling event that consists of bodies bunched up and rubbing against one another because of the limited capacity in here.

You see, I didn't want to come to this fabricated masked party. Halloween is THE time and place for teenagers to get drunk, have unprotected you-know-what, and use it as an excuse for the next day. It's honestly quite a miracle they even wake up the next day.

Though my fabulous outfit of a glittery black mask, sweatpants and our college sweatshirt stands out among the outfits of masked sexy nurses and hidden faced shirtless guys, I say I did put in quite the strength and thought to come here.

Get it? Because I'm not putting any effort into my costume, though I am? Get the verbal irony? No?

Whatever, my literature teacher would be so proud. 

Of course, Max wanted to come here, while Oliver cowered and Ashley was still probably getting over her hangover, and Larkin hasn't been around for a few days, wherever she went.

So it's just Max and I lingering around the souls of the not so damned, but drunk.

Max is the dissimilar version of me. The one that laughs when people get hurt. Oliver is the one that gets me through college, the somewhat brainy one, but freaks out over every little thing.

Y'know theres always that one wild girl in a group, who only comes out when there are boys or alcohol involved? That's Ashley. She's the only reason why I've ever made eye contact with any boy. Larkin on the other hand is not one to describe. She is whatever the hell she wants to be, whenever she wants to be.

All of these "entities" or "personalities" are..unfortunately me. Well at least thats what Dr.Griffin believes, but she also believes in unicorns and ghosts, as well as that I'm in denial that Oliver, Larkin, Ashley, and Max are apart of me. So, based off that, I'm really thinking I should get a second opinion.

I mean like c'mon the woman believes in unicorns, and yet specializes in therapy? I'm not that messed up, like they're simply there, and I sometimes can't distinguish or make out parts of the day before yesterday or events that people have personally confessed they have seen me doing, but those are minor, I'm not crazy.

Enough with the reason(s) of why my life is so messed up, let me introduce to you what you are reading, or more like listening to. This, right here, are my thoughts, sayings, emotions, and just about everything else that I can control.

This is what my therapist likes to call my "mind diary." Instead of actually writing on paper made from trees which give us oxygen in order to breathe, cause Heaven knows how many times I write on those things for Anatomy, I think to relieve any stress or exhaustion that may seem to consume me.

And just like every book, or diary in this case, there are characters.